The Land of the Silver Apples - Farmer Nancy - Страница 41

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The Nemesis laughed nastily. “We gave him what he wanted. Be careful what you ask for, I always say. Brutus wasn’t a bit grateful. ‘Oh, no, no, no. Brutus doesn’t like this, no, he doesn’t,’” the hobgoblin said in a credible imitation of the slave’s voice.

“You’ve hurt him,” accused Jack, rising to his feet. He’d been driven frantic by the man’s complaints and incessant whistling, but he didn’t wish him harm.

“Never! We saved his life!” cried the Bugaboo.

“I was the one who sent him packing,” the Nemesis gloated. “His Royal Idiocy wanted to keep him as a guest, but it’s my job to make sure order is kept in this kingdom. You could see the havoc Brutus was going to cause. He’s a descendant of Lancelot, and every man of that line knows how to cast spells over women.”

“Please tell us where he is.” Jack saw the Bugaboo glance at the Nemesis and the latter shake his head.

“He wanted to get out, so I put him out. Heaven knows where he ended up,” said the Nemesis.

“The food’s going to be spoiled if we wait much longer,” Mumsie interrupted. She signaled to her helpers to bring food. Jack thought about protesting, but he was extremely hungry and poor Pega looked ready to faint.

The dinner was better than Jack had hoped: creamy lentil soup with dense slabs of bread flavored with dill. Fire-roasted turnips swam in fragrant, melted butter, and great wheels of cheese were passed around. Most notable of all were the mushrooms. Boiled, deep-fried, pickled, baked in pies—there seemed no end to their variety. Jack hadn’t known so many existed or were safe to eat. “Are you sure—” he began as a purple fungus was plopped onto his trencher like a massive steak.

“Sure of what? That it’s delicious? Yes!” said the Bugaboo, tucking into his fungus.

“Mud men are always afraid of our mushrooms,” the Nemesis observed. “Mind you,” he added, “mistakes havebeen made.”

Jack sipped his drink from the giant acorn cup. It tasted faintly of pine needles, but it seemed to be water. Unusually fresh water. It was cold—a welcome thing in a courtyard surrounded by many torches. It didn’t make Jack sleepy—not exactly—but he felt his thoughts slow. He studied the acorn cup. It was handsome indeed, a bright brown you could sink your gaze into, going deeper until you could see into the heart of it.

“I think you’ve had enough,” said Mumsie, taking the cup from him. Jack was surprised to find himself lying facedown on the purple fungus. He sat up, confused. Mushroom juice dripped off his chin.

“Hah! Can’t hold his water!” crowed the Nemesis.

“Now, now. Mud men—excuse me, humans—often have trouble with it,” the Bugaboo said. He ordered Jack’s cup refilled. “You’ll do better with ordinary cave water,” he said kindly.

Jack tasted it. It was chalky and not especially good, but it didn’t send him into a trance.

“The other was meant as a treat,” Mumsie explained. “We take it from the Forest Lord’s own pool, when he’s busy elsewhere, of course. It makes you think long, slow thoughts like a tree does. Quite refreshing, like having a holiday.”

“I drink nothing that comes from the Forest Lord,” said Thorgil, pushing her cup away. Her face was pale, and Jack guessed that she was remembering the moss.

“Easily remedied,” said the hobgoblin king. He ordered both Thorgil’s and Pega’s cups refilled with cave water. Jack noticed that several creatures at the table were staring fixedly with small smiles (small for hobgoblins, that is) on their faces.

“It is not wise to drink something that renders you defenseless,” observed Thorgil, also looking at them. “Your enemies could creep up on you.”

The Bugaboo wriggled his ears with mirth. “Dear me! We have no enemies.”

“Everyone has them,” said Thorgil.

“Not us. We’re universally liked.”

“Then why do you post guards at your gates?” the shield maiden persisted. “Why do you secure your doors with many locks? And why do you go about invisibly?”

The laughter died away. The torches at the edge of the courtyard flared, and a pair of will-o’-the wisps darted down to explore the sudden silence. “There areelves,” the Bugaboo said.

“The elves steal our children,” explained the king. “You have to understand that elvish life is centered on pleasure. They cannot bear to spend one minute without entertainment, and they have to keep coming up with new amusements because they’re so easily bored. Once, long ago, they decided it was fun to switch our babies with human ones. I believe you call them ‘changelings’.”

Jack remembered the Bard talking about such things. Changelings,the old man had said, are always terrified because they’ve been torn from their rightful place. They fall into terrible rages and scream until everyone is driven mad.Jack thought, Well, why wouldn’t they?A human baby suddenly waking up surrounded by hobgoblins would go wild with terror. It must be just as frightening the other way around. “Do the elves give you our children?” he asked.

The Bugaboo sighed deeply, and the hobgoblin women cooed in response. It sounded like a flock of pigeons whispering to one another. “They turn human children into pets. It’s considered stylish to have a toddler on a leash. He can be dressed up in funny costumes or trained to do tricks. Toddlers are more clever than dogs, but they’re not as durable. Eventually, they fall into despair—lack of love does that. When a child is no longer entertaining, he’s left in a forest for wolves to dispose of.”

“How terrible!” gasped Pega.

“My father once left me out for wolves to devour,” Thorgil remarked.

“I’m not surprised,” said the Bugaboo. “The greatest sorrow of our lives is the loss of our sproglings—that’s our word for ‘children’. There’s not a family here who hasn’t lost one or two little ones. We try to plug up the tunnels. We post guards and lay traps, but the elves always find a way in.”

Hobgoblins had an unnerving habit of blinking their eyes one at a time, not both together as humans did. When they were upset, as the Bugaboo was now, they not only blinked rapidly, but erratically. Jack got dizzy watching him.

Something was hovering at the back of Jack’s mind, something important he had to remember, but the warmth, the rich food, and perhaps the effects of the Forest Lord’s water had dulled his wits. He was also extremely tired. Pega was nodding off, and even Thorgil jerked her head up in an effort to stay alert.

Dessert was an enormous steamed pudding wrapped in cloth. Jack vaguely remembered eating some. What he’d taken for plums were purple mushrooms.

After dinner the hobgoblins cleared the tables. Jack watched them in a kind of daze. He knew it would be polite to help, but all he wanted was to sleep. Soon a pack of hobgoblin youths led him off, and Pega and Thorgil were taken in another direction.

The sleeping hutches were hollows scraped into the earthen floor of a small side cave. There was one cave for boy hobgoblins, he was told, and another for girls. The adults slept in their own houses, along with the sproglings. The hollows were lined with the softest imaginable wool, and the youths curled up inside them like bunnies.

Jack found he couldn’t stretch his legs without sticking his feet out over the edge, but this was a minor problem. He was so tired, he could have slept on a bed of stinging nettles. The sound of snores filled the cave like the grunts of bullfrogs in a summer pond. The wool smelled strongly of mushrooms and perhaps hobgoblins.

Jack sat up and rubbed his eyes. Giant frogs were leaping around him, belching the way frogs do when they are happy. Then he saw that they were hobgoblin youths. A cluster of will-o’-the-wisps hovered near the top of the cave.

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